Ride the River (1983) s-5

by Louis L'Amour

  Elmer pointed. "There's my pack. I'm just scoutin' around."

  Harry closed his eyes, and Elmer stepped out beyond their sight. Although he was not aware of it, he had changed a lot in these past two weeks. For the first time in his life he had become aware of his own vulnerability. Injury and death happened to others, not to him, but suddenly he realized it could happen to him. He also realized that Felix Horst had no intention of sharing that money with anybody, and anybody who got in the way would be eliminated. So why not find it for himself and get away scot-free?

  He wouldn't mind sharing with Tim Oats, but Tim was with Horst and would have to make out as best he could.

  Elmer had learned from James White. He had learned to think before he acted, and now he carefully eliminated various areas beyond the camp, where he would not have to look. It would have to be somewhere she could have hidden, somewhere not easily seen from camp.

  Elmer studied the woods before him. There were many large trees, a number of fallen, rotting tree trunks, a few clumps of brush in the more open areas. At one place a huge old giant of the forest had started to topple, but its branches had caught in the branches of other trees and left the tree hanging, its great root mass partly ripped from the earth.

  Elmer moved out, searching the ground for tracks. He had never spent time in the woods or wilds, knew nothing about tracking, yet the tracks of the men who had gone out to capture Echo Sackett were plain enough.

  She had stabbed Harry. It would have to be her. Who would ever expect a pretty little thing like that to have a knife? Or that she would use it?

  That time he had suggested walking her home. He had thought that maybe, on one of those dark streets ...

  His brow broke into a cold sweat. Why, she probably had that knife then. It would have been him who got stabbed. The thought gave him a queasy feeling in the stomach. Cold steel had that effect on some people.

  Elmer paused, looking all about him; then slowly he began to walk. He counted his steps, stopping every few yards to look all about him. When he had walked two hundred steps, he walked several yards to the east and then turned about on a route parallel with his first and walked slowly back, searching the ground with his eyes as he moved.

  This was no time to be careless. He was going to work this out bit by bit. When they came back, if they did come back, he could be just scouting, but he hoped he would find the bag and be long gone by the time they returned.

  There was a place where the sunlight splashed a clearing in the woods, and there was a tangle of wild rose there. He looked at it but could see no trail through, nor where any bush had been trampled down or broken. There was a profusion of the wild roses there, all pink and lovely in the sunlight. He stood for a moment, caught by the lonely beauty of the place, then shook it off and walked away, frowning at some transient thought.

  What was he doing here, anyway? Why had he come? He had come because White had sent him, but was he to be White's errand boy forever? Or was he to go his own way? With this money he would have a start, he would go away, leave White behind, and perhaps study law for himself.

  He paused again among the trunks of the great trees. How still it was! How beautiful a place! He did not recall ever thinking of beauty before. He had been sly, cheating, prepared to do White's bidding, no matter what.

  He remembered Echo Sackett's cool reaction to his innuendos, if they could be called that, and for the first time he felt shame. There had been something about her, small as she was, a kind of quiet dignity that left him uneasy. Then Finian Chantry had come and Elmer had felt ashamed for James White. He had thought White was quite a man, important and shrewd. Suddenly he saw White dwarfed and he knew he could never respect him again. Finian Chantry had put him in his place quietly but firmly.

  Thinking left Elmer uneasy. He was not used to it, and ethics had never concerned him. Why was he thinking like this? Was it she who had started him? Or Finian Chantry? Or was it something about the silence here? He was uneasy, eager only to be away.

  On the fourth march of two hundred steps he drew near the toppled tree, its top caught in the branches. He looked up at it, held so insecurely. He looked again, and swung his path a little wide of it.

  When he started back, he was on the far side of the tree, and it was not until he had passed it that he turned to look back at the great mass of uplifted roots.

  "Of course," he muttered. "Why not?" He turned and walked back and stood looking at the shallow pit where the roots had been torn from the ground. It was almost filled with leaves. He stood for a moment, looking around. He was sure this was the place, yet he was suddenly uneasy.

  Suppose somebody saw him? Suppose Felix Horst returned before he could get away?

  Get the carpetbag and leave at once, right down the mountain to the river. He did not know what the river was, but there would be towns along the river, a place where he could catch the stage or a steamboat and get back to civilization.

  He glanced quickly around. All was still; there was nobody. So why did he feel uneasy? What was bothering him? He went down into the pit, waded through the leaves, kicking with his feet to find it.

  His toe hit something yielding. He brushed away the leaves, and there it was.

  The carpetbag! The gold! And all his!

  He grasped the handle and straightened up and turned.

  Patton Sardust was standing on the rim of the pit, his rifle in his hands.

  "Now, ain't that nice?" he said softly. "And just the two of us. Nobody else. Just you an' me."

  Chapter 21

  Sunlight was falling through the leaves, weaving a web of gold and shadow, when my eyes opened. Dorian's coat was over me, and I sat up suddenly, frightened.

  "Did I fall asleep? On watch?"

  "You did not," he said. "You awakened me when you knew you couldn't stay awake, then you went to sleep as though you'd never slept before."

  "What's happened?"

  He shrugged. "Nothing I know of. I've heard some movement out there, but nothing close. We'd better get ready to move." He looked around. "What happened to the dog?"

  Getting up, I brushed off the leaves and straightened my clothes, wishing there was somewhere to bathe. I felt grimy and my hair would look a sight.

  "I think we'd better get your carpetbag and leave," he said. "We'll get to a settlement of some kind, then I'll get help and come back and look for Archie."

  "All right." There was no more run in me. I was tired and I wanted to be home and take the money to Ma. Rightly it was mine, but in my mind it was ours, and that was the way it was going to be.

  Quiet as we could move, we worked our way down through the trees. No way I could forget that great hanging tree where I had left the carpetbag. We were still a good sixty yards off when I saw it, and we stopped, looking carefully around. Their camp had been just beyond. Now there was no smoke, nor smell of smoke, and no sound or movement. Still, we waited.

  We were almost to the edge of the pit left by the torn-up roots when I saw the tracks. For the first time I felt panic. If somebody had found that money ...

  I ran down into the pit, scattered the leaves, wading from side to side.

  It was gone!

  "They've taken it?"

  Dumbly I nodded. I fought to keep the tears back. After all our trouble, after all this, I had failed my family, I had failed Ma, I had failed Regal, I had failed Finian Chantry and his efforts to help. I said as much.

  "Maybe not," Dorian said. "Maybe not. Let's go after them. Uncle Finian sent me to see you got home safely with your money, and that's just what I am going to do!"

  I nodded, unable to speak. They were gone, and the money was gone.

  "I wish I was a better tracker," Dorian said, studying the ground.

  It brought me back to reality. "I can track. I've been tracking game since I was knee-high."

  Of course, I had seen all their tracks, and once a body has tracked, he or she just naturally registers things in the mind. That was Elm
er. He had big flat feet and he toed out when he walked. No question about him.

  "And that" - I pointed to another track on the rim of the pit - "that's the big fellow. Patton Sardust, I heard him called. Looks to me like Elmer was in the pit an' Sardust came up on him. Or they came together."

  "What about Horst?"

  "No tracks of his here, nor Oat's either." I began to cast about. Those two had walked away together. In some places where there were no leaves I could see the tracks better.

  "Elmer's got my carpetbag," I said.

  "How can you tell?"

  "Walkin' away from the hole back yonder, his right foot makes a deeper track. He's carryin' weight in his right hand."

  We walked away, following them. They were not wasting time moving out of the area. "Heading for the river," I said. "They don't plan to share with the others."

  "Or with each other, probably," Dorian said cynically.

  He was learning. Maybe he knew more all the time than I'd expected. "We'd better be careful," I said. "Horst was looking for us. He has Hans with him, maybe somebody else. There must have been eight of them, including the men Horst rounded up."

  We talked no more. The trail was plain enough, but occasionally Elmer and Sardust were pausing to look around. They were scared, too. Watchful, anyway. We were doing some looking around ourselves. At least Dorian was. I had my eyes on their trail, not to lose them.

  "Eight?" Dorian asked. "Are you sure?"

  "Some of them are out of it. One of them's got him a busted knee. I'd guess three are out of action."

  "Elmer and Sardust are ahead of us. That leaves Horst, Oats, and at least one more if our figuring's right."

  "It's pretty close," a voice said, and I looked up to see Timothy Oats standing there with the one they had called Hans. My rifle was on them, but Dorian was standing with his feet spread apart, staring at Oats, who was staring right back.

  "You fire that gun," Oats said to me, "an" Felix Horst will be here. He's in a killing mood."

  "So am I," I replied.

  "Don't be foolish," he said impatiently. "You two haven't a chance. They are all around you. Whatever happens here will be forgotten when we leave here. Nobody will even find your bodies."

  "You don't know this country, mister. There's folks coming and going all the time."

  "No matter. We will be gone. Give us that carpetbag and we will let you go. At least you will have a running start."

  "We haven't got it," Dorian said. "Two of your crowd have it."

  "You're lyin'!"

  "Where's Elmer?" Dorian said. "And where is that big fellow, Sardust?"

  Oats was staring at Dorian. "You've got too much lip."

  Dorian smiled. "You're supposed to be some kind of a fighter," he said. "Why don't you see what you can do about it?"

  "Dorian!" I said.

  "This is something I have to do, Echo," he said. "It won't take long."

  Timothy Oats took off his coat and laid it on a stump. He put his rifle across it.

  "You," I told Hans, "stay out of it."

  "Why not? Tim will make mincemeat of him."

  I was afraid of that myself, but the way they were looking at each other, like two prize bulls in a pen, I knew nothing I could say would make any difference. Dorian had shucked his coat, too.

  He was a shade lighter than Oats, but just as broad in the shoulder. "You won't find him so pretty when I get through with him," Oats said.

  "You take care of yourself, mister. Pretty is as pretty does."

  Oats tried a left, drawing Dorian out, or trying to. Dorian ignored the left, moved to the left. He feinted a left, and when Oats moved to counter, hit him with a solid right that shook Oats to his heels. It surprised him, too. He had not expected that, and I could see his expression change. Now he knew he was in for a fight.

  Oats was the wilier, ducking, slipping away from punches, hitting hard in return. Twice he landed hard to the body and I winced for Dorian, but he seemed to pay it no mind.

  Then they were at it, hammer and tongs, both of them slugging, toe to toe and neither backing up a bit. Oats was hitting Dorian, but Dorian was taking them standing, and suddenly he feinted a left, and Oats, too eager, stepped in and took a right on the chin. It staggered him, and Dorian followed up, swinging both fists to the body.

  Oats backed up, tried to get set, but Dorian gave him no chance. The less experienced of the two, he was younger, in better shape, and just a little quicker. Oats rushed, tried to butt, and Dorian hit him with an uppercut, and when the head came down again, he grabbed Oats by the hair and jerked him forward, kicking his feet from under him. Oats came down hard, landing on his face.

  At that moment Hans lunged forward, and I put a bullet through his ear. The shock and the pain stopped him, and his hand went to his bloody ear. I had the pistol in my hand.

  "The next one kills," I said. "Just back off."

  "You missed," Hans said.

  "I didn't want to kill you. I wanted an ear and I got it. You now have one ear. Do you want to try for none?"

  The blood was covering the side of his face and his shoulder. He backed off warily.

  Oats was getting up, and Dorian was letting him. Suddenly Oats dived at him, grappling for Dorian's knees. He got one of them, right in the face. He staggered and went to a knee. Maybe that boy could fight after all, I thought. This wasn't party games.

  Hans had backed off, trying to stop the bleeding. "I'll kill you for that!" he said.

  "You haven't done very well so far," I replied. "You just better look at your hole card. You aren't holding very much."

  Dorian was bloody himself. He had a cut on his cheekbone and his lip was puffy, but he seemed happy. He was standing, ready for Oats to get up.

  "You're a smarter fighter than I am, Mr. Oats," he said, "but you've had too many beers."

  "Dorian? We've got to get out of here. We've got trouble coming."

  He picked up his coat and put it on, then got his rifle. Oats had reached his coat and was standing over it, about to pick up the rifle he had laid down.

  "Go ahead," I told him, "if you feel lucky."

  "Horst will be coming. He will have heard that shot."

  Dorian made no reply, nor did I. We backed off, watching them as we left. Oats was wiping his bloody face.

  "Have you got their trail?" Dorian asked.

  "They will have heard that shot too," I said.

  "But they won't know who shot, or why. They may travel a little faster."

  Elmer and Patton Sardust. I wondered how long Elmer would last. He was just a big gawky boy, and Sardust was a mean man, a hard man, a man who had been through it. They must be near the river by now.

  We did not talk, being wishful to make no sound. The tracks were easy to follow, as nobody was trying not to leave a trail. They were headed down the steep slope toward the river. If we could get that carpetbag back, we could just keep going. The direction was right.

  There was no need to track them now, as they were on a trail down to the river. I squinted away toward the river. I did not know rightly where I was, and that might be the Powell or it could be the Clinch. We'd been switching back and forth in the mountains, and all I knew was my general directions.

  During a pause to catch our breath, I reloaded my rifle-gun. This was mostly new country for me. There was a path along the river that had been followed by both men and game, and their tracks were there.

  Elmer clutched the carpetbag, switching it from his right to his left hand. He wished they'd never found it. He knew the big man walking with him intended to kill him, he knew Sardust wanted it all. For a moment Elmer was inclined to turn and simply hand it to him, but there was a deep stubbornness in him that refused. Anyway, it might not suffice. Sardust might kill him anyway. Tree shadows fell along the path. He wished he could be walking here alone, without Sardust. He liked the sound of the river.

  He stopped suddenly, and Sardust stopped. "What's the matter?" The big man was ir
ritable but watchful.

  "I thought I heard something."

  "The wind, maybe. Or the river."

  "Something else, somebody moving."

  "You're crazy!"

  "Patton, we should give this back. To that girl, I mean. We should give this carpetbag to Echo Sackett. It's hers."

  "Youare crazy! There's money in there, boy. Money for both of us. Give it back? Why?"

  "It's hers. It will mean a lot to her. I know, I was all for stealin' it myself. I didn't like her one bit, but she's got nerve. And she needs this. Ever since I got down in this country, I been wonderin' about all this. I figure we're doin' wrong."

  Patton spat into the dust. "Well, of all the weak, mollycoddlin' ... !"

  "I mean it, Mr. Sardust. I don't feel the same no more. Men have been hurt over this. Three men down and hurt, an' everybody is for just leavin' them. I don't feel right about it."

  "You just give it to me. I'll take the blame. You can run off an' do what you like. I'll just let you off the hook. Give it to me."

  "No, Mr. Sardust, I may be a damn fool but I'm takin' it back to that girl. Maybe it's this country, maybe it's her, maybe it's those men back there, dyin' maybe. I don't feel right about it no more."

  "You give it to me. I'll shoulder the blame. You run off an' have a good cry. You an' your conscience." Patton Sardust spat contemptuously. "You're nothin' but a damn mollycoddle!"

  "No, Mr. Sardust. I am takin' it back to her."

  "Shut up! Just give me that bag!"

  "I think he's right, Mr. Sardust." The voice came from the trees near the trail. "I think he's right. I think you better leave him go, Mr. Sardust."

  A man stepped into the open trail, a very tall, very lean man with a rifle.

  Patton Sardust turned slowly. Whatever Elmer did was of no immediate concern. He had never seen this stranger before, but his every instinct told him he was in trouble, deep, serious trouble.

  His heart was pounding slowly, heavily. His rifle was by his side, held in the trail position. His hand was almost in the right place. If he could only get his finger on the trigger ...

  "Who the devil are you?"

  "Not the devil, Mr. Sardust, but like him, I can open the gates to hell. I'm Mordecai Sackett. You ready to go?"